Take a Bullet
by Totally-Out-Of-It
Summary: Travis acts too soon, but Wes is there to save his life and take the bullet for him, literally. No Character Death.


"Damn it, Travis," Wes growled, checking his gun was loaded. "This was not supposed to turn into a shoot out."

"Yeah? Well he wasn't supposed to be armed either, but that didn't happen. You said it was the other guy who was behind it," Travis retorted, pulling his gun from its holster and trusting it to be loaded. He always kept it loaded. All he had to do was flick the safety off, which he did in a flashy manner to make sure Wes noticed.

"No, _you_ said it was the other guy. I told you not to assume things and that they were working together," Wes said and clicked his magazine in.

"And you'd be wrong, because the other guy is innocent and bleedin on the ground. So ha," Travis snapped back.

Wes groaned, not in the mood for this pointless banter. They could argue when the guns were put down. He glanced around the edge of the dumpster, and God did he hate leaning up against a dumpster, to see where their shooter had gone. He saw the guy, looking around and twitching a bit. Wes shook his head. The shooter was unstable. It wasn't going to work. It was death by cop or death by drug runner. Somebody was going to get shot. He had enough time to turn his head back to tell as much to his partner before Travis was moving.

"Travis? Travis!" he hissed, but it was too late. Travis had rolled out from behind the dumpster and brought his gun up.

"Put the gun down!" Travis shouted. The shooter snapped, Wes saw it. As the gun turned on Travis, the black man took aim and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened.

"Shit," Travis gasped. Empty mag. The shoot out the day before... he hadn't refilled. And now it was gun versus air, and he didn't have a shield.

Two shots were fired on top of each other. One caught the dealer in his firing shoulder. The other made Travis crumple to the asphalt, but not because it hit him. It hit, very clearly, Wes Mitchell as he pushed Travis down and out of the crosshairs.

The drug runner screamed and took off running. Wes didn't say anything, but he did grunt in pain when he hit the ground next to Travis.

"Thanks, man," Travis groaned as he pushed himself up. "But next time, just shoot the guy. Don't gotta injure me too. I-... Oh damn."

"Oh damn," Wes mimicked and winced. He was on his back, gun still held tight. His face was scrunched up in the sunlight, his left hand pressing on his side. "Oh damn is right. Travis-"

Blood. Travis had been a cop for a long time, but never had he seen a partner of his actually get hit. He had such a good record of never getting hit, and his partners were never as reckless as he was. Never in a million years would Travis have imagined his partner getting shot - especially not Wes. Oh shit. Wes was gonna be pissed when he realized his suit was ruined.

"Wes, man, you took a bullet for me," Travis said, sounding SO intelligent.

"Idiot," Wes groaned and winced. "Kid's getting away."

"Shit!" Travis jumped up, gave Wes one more look over, and then took off running. Wes really wished he could give chase too. Chases were one of his favorite parts.

The bullet didn't hit anything major - at least not that he could tell. It hurt like a bitch, though, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the shock set in. Breathing stung, but he tried to focus on the gun in his hand and how Travis was probably tackling the guy by now. Runts like that kid never traveled fast with wounds, even shoulder wounds. Pain was too much. Pain was too much.

And Travis was probably being too rough with the poor kid, making the cuffs just a bit too tight and yelling like the world was ending. Maybe it was. But Wes could feel the stickiness of his own blood clotting up his dress shirt and soaking his jacket, and damn he would never get those stains out. This outfit was going in the garbage. The hotel might be curious. He'd toss it out at the hospital or something.

Oh, there it was. The cold feeling around the bullet wound. There was something you only experienced when shot... definitely only then. And the wind blew and made him cold where his skin was coated in blood. Damn it. Travis needed to run faster or some shit. He must have already caught that dumb bastard.

Which one was the dumb bastard again? Travis or the kid? Both. Definitely both.

"Shit," Wes gasped and dropped his gun. He tried to look down at his wound, but it made the muscles in his torso clench and he hissed, dropping his head back to the ground. Both his hands were on the bloody spot now, and Wes kept thinking about his shirt getting ruined until the point he tried to unbutton it to take it off. Only he couldn't get a grip on the buttons, so he just tore the damn thing. That just made him colder. Damn. He'd ripped his shirt.

Shock, he tried to remind himself. He was just going into shock. But that didn't help him at all. Stupid brain. God, it hurt. Being shot definitely, fucking hurt.

"Travis," he groaned. "Ambulance, idiot. Call an ambulance."

He should have said that before he told Travis to run after the damn kid. Damn it. Crap. He really didn't want to die of a gunshot or blood loss or getting infected by the stupid dumpster ten feet to his left. Jesus Christ. See if he ever tried to save Travis' life again. Just see. Hell. Who was he trying to kid? He'd do it tomorrow, if he could.

"Wes! Wes, man, you alright?" Travis asked, coming back.

"Do I look alright?" Wes hissed. "Son of a bitch."

"Oh yeah. You're not alright," Travis whined. "Don't worry. I called the medics while I ran after the kid. They're coming. You'll be fine."

"Travis, I've been shot," Wes ground out. "I'm not twelve."

"I know, dude. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'm just... you know... a little nervous. You've lost a lot of blood and, man, you ripped your shirt. Since when do you rip your clothes off?" Travis asked, sounding so much like normal that Wes almost forgot he'd been shot.

Wes tried to chuckle, but it hurt and he just gasped in pain. "Shit."

"Hey, Wes... Hey-," Travis said, drawing Wes' attention to him.

"What?" Wes pressed his teeth together to lift his head a bit and look at Travis better.

"Thank you... Wes. I mean it." And he looked forlorn.

"You're welcome, and you owe me," Wes huffed, dropping his head. "And stop looking at me like that. I'm not dying... Okay, so I am dying, but I'm not gonna die. I'll be fine."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, man," Travis agreed, nodding and glancing away toward the street. "Hey, you hear that?"

"Best sound I've heard all day," Wes said and let out a breathy laugh. The ambulance would be there within three minutes if they could hear it already. Travis smiled down at him and laughed too.

"Wait till we tell Dr. Ryan about this one. She's gonna be so proud," Travis said between his small laughs.

"Yeah. I did a great thing today," Wes agreed.

"You? I took down the guy."

"I got shot saving your life," Wes said. Travis opened his mouth and Wes held up one bloody hand. "Travis - don't argue. For once, just shut up."

"Anything you say," the other detective said and turned to wave the paramedics over.


End file.
